


In your Arms.

by Lizzie1498



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Abuse, M/M, Rape, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, drug, selfharm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-04
Updated: 2014-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:53:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030829
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lizzie1498/pseuds/Lizzie1498
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is brutally assaulted and goes through the struggles of the aftermath, domestic abuse, suicidal thoughts, self harm, drug abuse and all that jazz. Sherlock and John Bromance will migrate to mild slash. Rated M. Warnings for descriptions of violence, rape and cursing. I warned you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Found.

**Author's Note:**

> Tell me what you think?

A/N: Hello, Lovelies! This is Lizzie and I just wanted to tell you a bit about this story so you are prepared. This is my second fanfiction ever. My first: "Back from the Dead, But not Alive" can be found on my profile. It is also a Sherlock fic, so if you want to go take a look. I was inspired with this idea through my own ramblings and a collection of other fics. This fic will center around John and Sherlock after Sherlock is brutally assaulted there friendship will be tested. While Sherlock has battles with his inner demons on the subjects of his sexuality, addiction and overall being. This is rated M. Warnings for descriptions of violence, rape (Not extremely detailed), drug abuse, domestic abuse, self harm and suicidal thoughts. I warned you. So read and review if you wish! I always appreciate feedback of any kind. And if you ever have a prompt that you wish for me to write, just PM me and I will be happy to.

Thank you all! ~Lizzie

~0~

John had just returned from shopping for all the groceries that had been in need of replacement since Sherlock had used practically everything they had for an experiment on a decomposing pig fetus and the effects different substances of varying amounts of proteins has on the unborn flesh.

John had tried to ignore the smell so finally having an excuse to leave to fetch the groceries and some cleaning supplies to freshen up the flat he returned home much happier than when he left. So with 5 bags of groceries in each hand he trudged up the stairs of 221B and fumbled his way inside to be greeted with the same mess he left with.

And among the collection of files, encyclopedias, maps, sheet music empty and filled, empty bullet casings, his gun, Sherlock's robe and a pile of green God knows what squished into the carpet. John found no sign of his Consulting Detective.

"Uhg, Sherlock! I thought I told you to clean this mess up! Please, it is starting to get out of hand!" John huffed as he dropped the bags on the counter and began unpacking. In fact, things had been out of hand for two weeks now, but John had finally became fed up with the constant untidiness of their flat.

THEIR. FLAT.

They were sharing. Which means they both needed to keep up on it. John did his part. But did Sherlock do his?

No.

"I would really appreciate some assistance putting these away! Considering you used up all of it last time, and then I bought it, brought it home and am unpacking it. Alone!" John decided to drop it since Sherlock wasn't probably even listening.

And after ten minutes of finally getting everything unpacked and put away John became a little anxious since he had not heard a sound from his flatmate.

"Sher? You home?!" He was for his coat was hanging on the rack and he never went anywhere without it.

"Sherlock, Look, I am not mad. But I could really use some assistance in keeping our flat neat."

No answer. No sound.

John approached Sherlock's closed door and knocked gently.

"Sherlock? Are you asleep?"

Oh, John now wished Sherlock had just been sleeping.

He knocked a little harder and this time he heard a reply.

A low painful moan, barely audible and barely comprehensible.

But John had heard it, a single drawn out groan muffled by the closed door.

"John-"

The Soldier stiffened and then grabbed the handle of the unlocked door and stepped inside the dark room to be met with a sight worse than any in Afghanistan.

Sherlock lay sprawled naked and bloody on the floor crying silently and ceaselessly as he tried to cover his nudity with trembling hands. John could count at least half a dozen stab marks littering his legs and back, all of them bleeding sluggishly onto the carpet that was already sopping with the crimson juice. The sheets had been ripped from the mattress which was now bare and covered in more blood, a clear sign of a struggle. Sherlock weakly lifted his head to look at John with such terror, pain and humiliation that John began to cry as he rushed over to aid his only friend who uttered a single choked word.

"-Help."

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. It sucked, I know. Sorry. There will be more if you request it. If not. meh. Please tell me what you think and if I should continue it? Thanks!

~Lizzie


	2. Help me

A/N: Woah! So many reviews and follows! Thank you! Greatly appreciated. Here is a bit more. Warning for feels and such.

*~0~

"Help-" Sherlock sobbed ashamedly as John kneeled by him and cradled his bruised and bloody face in his soft hands.

"Hey, easy. Hush. It's okay. You're safe. Just relax now. Okay, Mate?" The Doctor raked his eyes over the quaking form, cataloging his injuries from what he could see.

Both eyes blackened and blood shot from crying. His cheeks slightly puffy and red from being slapped made his face seem oddly pink along with his bloodied parted lips that were lined with thick ropes of clotted blood that waggled grossly every time he inhaled a painful breath. Blood both fresh and dry winded around his legs confirmed John's horror of the situation. Along with chafed wrists, raw from where he had possibly been tied down at one point of his ordeal and John couldn't bring himself to continue the examination with Sherlock squirming and crying, clearly uncomfortable by the observing eyes.

"Relax Sher. I am a Doctor and I am just trying to help. Let me take a look?" The look in Sherlock's eyes was a mix between acceptance and terror, either way he didn't move.

"There is no need to be embarrassed. I am your friend, I won't hurt you." Sherlock hesitated and then slowly nodded through his tears, allowing John to help him to his unsteady feet and to the bed where he was gently eased onto his back and a sheet draped over his lower half. Sherlock curled in on himself as best he could with all the pain running through his torn and sore limbs. But John quickly stopped him and lay him back out straight across the mattress.

"No, no no. Easy, Sherlock easy! Just lie still and relax!" John placed his hands on Sherlock's chest lightly but firmly keeping him on his back without trying to seem threatening.

"I am going to get some supplies, will you be alright for a few minutes alone? I'll be right in the other room." John rubbed circles on Sherlock's hiccuping chest as he nodded into the pillow. John reluctantly turned to leave just to turn and see his best friends, the greatest, smartest and bravest man he knew sobbing uncontrollably on the bloodied mattress.

Hurrying through his room he found a pair of loose shorts, a t-shirt that smelled of his cologne, several towels in the cupboard outside his door along with his first aid kit and practically ran back to Sherlock's room to found he hadn't moved an inch but his crying had nearly doubled in urgency at the fear of being left alone. Dropping everything in his hands he darted to the bedside and gently ran a hand through the sweat plastered curls whispering nonsense comforts until his blubbering lessened ever so slightly.

"Okay, let me see?" John gently pulled the sheet up to his mid-thighs revealing a total of 3 stab wounds oozing blood and pus.

"Oh, God. What-uhm, How how did this happen?" John cleared his throat and gently probed the largest of the three much to the hissing discomfort of the trembling form beneath him.

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak only to bite his tongue and close again.

"Come on, Try and answer me please?" John encouraged gently but couldn't help the tremble in his voice.

"I-he he uhm, I didn't-" Sherlock blinked back more tears but failed and fell back into his ceaseless crying before turning to bury his face in the sheets.

John's heart broke. Sherlock was words. He always had words. Many many words. Too many words for John to understand. And now he had none.

With a lump ballooning in his throat John crawled onto the bed and gently lifted Sherlock to sit on his side, gently keeping him up right and looking in his eyes.

"Sherlock. Sherlock, look at me." John lowered his head and gently held Sherlock's wide eyed stare at the crumpled sheets. And slowly, blue eyes lifted to meet John's gentle ones. And Sherlock knew that those eyes were safe and full of love and admiration and would never hurt him.

He looked into eyes and for once they weren't filled with hatred and lust.

"Now try and talk to me, please." John whispered and caressed the flinching brow before catching eyes with Sherlock who looked so very scared and not at all like the Sherlock he knew.

The Great Holmes swallowed the fear in his throat and leaned a bit closer, both wanting the affection and wanting to shy away from it, he confided.

"I di-didn't do-a-as he wanted-" He choked on his own words and wiped his eyes with shaking hands before hesitantly looking at John to see a reaction of some kind.

Would he be sympathetic? Or just disgusted with him? Perhaps he would blame him. It was probably his fault that this happened to him, he must have done something to trigger the attack. Maybe John might-

Sherlock's thoughts were cut short as two warm arms winded around him and pulled him close but before he could stop himself he was screaming and pushing the warm body away in fear.

The Soldier was taken aback by the sudden violent reaction and immediately felt guilty for forcing the physical affection on a man who had just been raped.

Sherlock had crawled two feet away and pulled his legs to his chest, hugging his knees and rocking himself to calm his racing heart. This was knew. These emotions and he had no idea what to do with them. Or why they made him react the way he did and now he realized that John was of no threat to him and only meant the best. So with his last scrap of trust and bravery Sherlock held out his bruised arms and waited for acceptance or rejection.

John crawled unsteadily forward on his knees and gently took Sherlock in his arms again before pulling him close, tucking his head under his jaw and stroking the curls at the base of his head. For the first time that day, he was touching someone and it doesn't feel wrong or gross or painful.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I'm so so sorry. My fault, I shouldn't have done that without your permission. Forgive me, Please?" John's voice wavered and broke.

Sherlock wearily lifted his head to look at John before nodding, "I- Fo-forgive you." The words felt foreign in his mouth when he felt that he should be the on asking for forgiveness, even though he had done nothing wrong.

John nodded his thanks before gently breaking the hug and placing Sherlock on his back again so that he may plug the sluggish bleeding so they can leave for the hospital.

Returning to the bed with all his supplies, The kind Doctor set about to gently cleaning the wounds and winding bandages around the cotton he placed over the holes. He spoke to Sherlock gently, to keep him awake, and to shed some light as to why this incident happened.

"Sher, could you tell me a bit about what happened?" He pressed down on the leg with the cotton and quickly taped down the make shift bandage, Sherlock nodded.

"Did you know the person who did this?" Sherlock groaned at the memory but nodded gently to John's horror.

"Did this happen while I was out shopping?" Another wave of guilt hit John like a train. If he would have stayed, or possibly dragged Sherlock along with him none of this would have happened. His answer was another nod.

John bit his lip to prevent himself from cracking at the seams, "Last one. Has this- has this happened before, Sherlock?"

This time John did not need a nod to tell him the answer.

The clipped, painful mews and sudden overflow of tears told him all he needed to know.

This hasn't been the first and it hasn't been the second.

God knows how many times Sherlock has gone through this and suddenly, it all makes sense.

Why he avoids unnecessary human contact. Why he is socially awkward around others. Why he considers himself married to his work. Why he is defensive as to how sex DOES NOT alarm him.

And suddenly John has many questions for Mycroft as to why he would bring up such a sensitive subject.

And by questions he means fists to the face.

Sherlock had apparently noticed John's deep concentration and had probably deduced what he had been thinking so John gave his "Doctor Smile" specifically designed to come off as kind and patient and trusting. It had the required effect for Sherlock tried to smile back but ended up grimacing and sniffing back tears.

"Alright mate, let me just make a phone call and then we'll go to the hospital. Just relax I will be right in the living room." John bought the cleanest part of the sheet to cover up the incredibly thin and quaking form on the mattress. Sherlock was a large looking man with his great big coat. Height wise he was above others, but now, he looked so incredibly small wrapped in the red sheet.

John had made his quick leave to fetch his phone only to see put of the corner of his eye, Sherlock stretch painfully across the bed just to fetch John's shirt and nuzzle in its scent. Sighing peacefully into the soft smell of his friend.

A/N: Here is Chapter 2~ Did you like it? I hope you did. And I understand that this is probably a bit out of character and I will try much harder to put this back in character but I wrote this in my own idea as to how they would react to a situation like this. And just so you know, I am American and am extremely ignorant to British phrases and things. All I know is British = Tea. XD So if I get anything wrong in future chapters or you have a different way of saying it so it makes more sense, please let me know. So thanks!

~Lizzie


	3. Get Donovan.

A/N: So many wonderful reviews and follows~ woah! Thank you all for your support, it is greatly appreciated! This chapter will have much more feels and some awkwardness and a little comfort of a crying consulting detective. Please let me know what you think? ~ Lizzie

~0~

In the living room, John scrambled for his phone and tried to think about who he should call. Mycroft? Definitely no, he was too angry with hi at the moment and the last thing Sherlock needed is to hear screaming in the living room. So, Lestrade it was, Sherlock and John both trusted him greatly and maybe he knew how to deal with victims in a situation like this when John felt completely useless.

He picked up on the third ring.

"Hello, John! How are you? What do you need?"

"Lestrade! Oh, My God-" John's voice broke as the reality of the whole situation came crashing down.

Clearly sensing something was extremely wrong, and knowing how much John cared for Sherlock, Lestrade already knew where this conversation was going.

"John. How badly is he hurt?" The DI couldn't keep his own voice from wavering in anticipation.

"Lestrade-He was. Oh, God. Sherlock was- I went out for shopping and I came back and he was just-" John sat down in the middle of the living room, silently crying, not wanting Sherlock to worry.

"John, you need to talk to me. What happened?!" Lestrade was now standing in his office, hand clenched around his phone with the other pulling at his hair. Donovan was in his doorway watching him carefully, awaiting orders.

"Sherlock was raped." John clapped a hand to his mouth to mute his cries.

Silence on the other end.

"Lestrade? You still there?" The DI's mouth dropped unhinged and he was so stunned that he nearly collapsed into his chair, flushed and sweating.

"Yes," He croaked after he recovered. "Yes, I am still here. Uhm, just stay calm John. I will be sending Donovan to escort you and Sherlock to the hospital. I will meet you there. Pack a bag with things you and him may need over night." Sally stepped into the office, shocked, curious and a little afraid at not knowing the other side of the conversation.

John whispered intensely, "No! No, not Donovan! He will freak out if she sees him like this! He was so embarrassed by just having me with him-!"

"John!" Lestrade cut him off. "Donovan is an officer and she will understand. I will tell her the situation and she will behave appropriately. Now go get Sherlock ready, she will be there shortly." And with that Lestrade hung up and relayed the entire story to Donovan who listened with wide eyes that began to tear up before rushing off to her car and to 221B Baker street.

John stuck the phone in his pocket and quickly went back into Sherlock's room to get him ready.

"Alright, Sher. Uhm, Let's get you ready for the hospital. Is there anything you want to bring with you?" Sherlock nodded as he was trying to sit up but failed until John went to his side and pulled him to gently sit.

John rubbed the very accented spine and made a mental note that after Sherlock was cared for and released from the hospital he would try to fatten him up.

"What would you like to bring?" John encouraged. Sherlock gestured to a chest by his bureau. Hurrying over, John opened it to find his favorite jumper that he had been missing for two months, a few old looking story tale books, the violin and a well-loved stuffed dog that may have once been black but was now a faded gray and littered with small patches that covered up rips and tears.

"So, you stole my jumper! I was going crazy looking for this!" John held it up and looked at Sherlock who blushed guiltily. "I mean, you can have it. If you want?" Sherlock gave a short nod and John placed the jumper in an empty duffel bag hanging out of the open closet.

"But," John held out the stuffed pooch. "Is this what you wanted?" Sherlock smiled brokenly through his tears and held out his arms for the puppy. John rose and delivered the pup to the quaking hands who grasped it hard and pulled the plushie to his chest, rocking it and crying into its fur.

John allowed himself to watch for a moment and pity the once great man. The man he knew and even he would admit it, he loved him as one would a Brother or a Best friend. But what they had was greater than that. They were in a sense platonic boyfriends. Loving each other without all of the romantic sexual desires that couples possess. They were simply happy with each other. And now John never knew if that would be the same. If Sherlock could be restored to the brave daring man he was. The one who ran across roof tops and jumped over the hoods of cabs, chasing criminals in the moon light with his billowing coat and eyes made of ice. And always with John two steps behind, ready to fight and defend. John may have been the sweetest and more human of the pair. Donovan even considered him a lonely puppy compared to the Great Dane that was Holmes. The puppy that followed for protection, for companionship, for love. But she underestimated this puppy. This one had a bite.

John felt like biting something, felt like tearing his hair out at seeing his Great Dane with his tail tucked between his legs, whimpering and submitting to the shadow of evil cloaking him right now. His own personal rain cloud.

But John was a soldier. And he would fight for Sherlock, especially when he couldn't fight for himself.

"Sherlock, Let's get you in some clothes, alright?" John stroked a gaunt cheek and encouraged him to lift his eyes.

Eventually, Sherlock nodded slowly and allowed John to remove the sheet and difficultly help him into a pair of John's shorts. They were quite baggy and fell just past his knees but they were comfortable and that is all that mattered.

Sherlock had just wriggled into John's tshirt when there was a knock at the door and John yelled for the knocker to come in loud enough for Sherlock to jump out of his skin and nearly off the bed.

Donovan walked in to find Sherlock crouched on the floor rocking and crying to himself as John apologized like a broken record and held the trembling form.

She knocked lightly on the wall and nearly gasped when a terrifying pair of blue ice eyes shine on her like a deer in headlights.

"Hey, Fr-Sherlock." The words felt foreign in her mouth and she immediately swallowed the word that would have usually burped from her lips.

"Hey, John." Sally stood awkwardly, awaiting an answer and to frightened to say any more of her own.

"Uhm hey, Donovan. Uh-Is the car ready?" John cleared his throat and stood up, taking Sherlock with him to stand at half his height. He remained hunched with his head low and ducked behind John, afraid of being out in the open he hid behind his friend like a stalling child.

It was like trying to hide a giraffe behind a hedgehog.

"I still see you, Sherlock." Donovan gently teased and squinted dramatically at the curly head that peeked over a shorter man's shoulder. And still after all he has been through, he still managed to give her a disapproving look that turned from fear to embarrassment to slight bemusement to solemn.

"No you can't-" He huffed into John's hair which suddenly flared in all directions.

Sally could not suppress her smile. Sometimes she hated the narcissistic, haughty, sociopathic freak. But he was human, and he was hurting, so she played along.

"Really? Then who is this?" She slowly walked forward and gently pinched his ear, on closer inspection she could see every bruise, scrape and tear trail on his skin.

"Ooh, you found me..." He smiled shyly and huffed an empty laugh.

John reached back and wrapped an arm around the thin waist before taking a step towards the door.

"Now that everyone is accounted for, we better leave now. Alright?" With his other hand he grabbed the duffel bag which was quickly taken by Donovan who led them out. Slowly, they hobbled down stairs, mindful of Sherlock's injuries and doing their best to brace him as he limped down with a stone set grimace.

They piled into the police car in silence as Sally drove and Sherlock curled up on the seat, resting heavily on John.

 _They would fix him at the hospital_. John thought to himself.

_If he isn't already too broken._

_A/N: You like? :3_


	4. Shh, you'll wake him

A/N: Sorry it took so long! Here is the next chapter, and I know that according to canon Sherlock’s parents are normal and loving,….not in this story… XD I hope you like!

The drive was a silent one. The thickness of the air heavy and frightening, settling over them all like a living beast and if they dared speak it would surely awaken and attack. So they kept quiet except for the shuddering breaths of an exhausted Detective who was now practically lying in John’s lap since sitting up straight in the hard leather seats was near impossible.

Sherlock’s legs began to cramp in the limited room of the car, he gently wriggled more into John’s lap giving himself some leg room and hoping the heated throbbing in his stabbed thighs would ease. He would never admit that he desperately wanted the comfort that John seemed to emanate and that maybe if he scooted closer he would feel safer, maybe this whole thing would just go away.  
Something shifted in John, a sudden full body tense that caused Sherlock to turn and look at him for an answer to the immediate tension. John smiled fondly and gladly gave the affection that he knew Sherlock was searching for. Many of the times, Sherlock would use his injuries as an excuse to stay close to John, to receive affection and care that he has been denied since birth.  
John never protested but would just smile knowingly and offer a warm body to lean against while watching telly or a few comforting strokes down the bruised spine after a squabble during a case.  
They never talked much about Sherlock’s childhood, but from the little that John knew it had been awful. He never pressed for answers, if Sherlock wanted to tell him, he would. He never did.  
So John would just be there. And by simply being there Sherlock seemed to almost turn human, dropping the façade of cold, calculating and superior to warm, affectionate and loving. Only for John.  
Neither of them would ever let anyone know that Sherlock was actually very affectionate. People would talk.  
Especially if they knew that he liked to cuddle in his sleep. And in his defense, John has a very logical reason as to why they shared a bed that night.  
But that’s a different story.  
John found himself smiling at the memory and carding his fingers through the damp, wild curls. Sherlock’s tension slowly eased, until he was limp in John’s lap and practically purring. 

~0~  
Sherlock hated unnecessary human contact. It was dirty, uncomfortable, and usually led to a forming of a relationship of some kind, which he loathed. So he had sworn to himself at a very early age to avoid human contact unless it was life-depending.  
Until he met John.  
John was an exception, the only one who he would willingly sit close to, or hug, or share a bed with-Which he has a perfectly rational reason for!  
He always felt safe when John was near, and a simple brush of the shoulders while walking or a “Good Morning!” hair ruffle would immediately calm his racing mind and heart and leave him significantly calmer and…happier.  
So with a slight hesitation, he crawled forward even more and snuggled closer into the warmth that his John provided. The softness of his jumper and the familiarity of his scent was enough to calm his fast-beating heart. His anxiety, fear and over-all disgust with himself was cleansed away with a friendly smile and a firm but gentle hand through his hair and down his back. 

Sherlock breathed out a shuddering sigh, the past three and three quarters of an hour had been hellish. And now that he was finally out of danger he felt an overwhelming tightness in his stomach that the beginning of this whole nightmare was just beginning to unfold. Again.

He has suffered this fate before. 

Assaulted, Attacked, Beaten.

Raped.

He had been raped many times throughout his life. Same man. Every time.

But this was the first time in years. About sixteen years.   
And this was the first time he was actually being taken to hospital for it. This was the most severe.  
Except for That Day.  
He refers to it as such because if he dare let the memories from That Day out of their locked quarters he would most surely break down. And there would be no way in Heaven or Hell that he could be put back together after that by anyone. Not even John.   
Sherlock whines and shakes his head to throw the thoughts beginning to surface out of his mind. When a gentle hand caresses his forehead he realizes his eyes had been screwed shut and his hands tangled and pulling at his curls. Slowly he lifts his gaze to meet a worried John’s who after a moment of regarding his Detective, convinces him with gentle touches to let go of his hair. It has been abused enough for a lifetime. All the tugging and twisting and yanking.   
Intertwining his fingers with Sherlock’s, John massaged the bloody knuckles with a calloused thumb of his own.   
They still had a few more minutes before they arrived. A few more blessed minutes of looming dread until the nightmare would come to life once again.  
Smiling again at his Best Friend John murmured a few words of comfort and praise before they all settled into the silent beast stirring around them. And he was about to wake up.


	5. Vacancy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello, loves. No excuse for the lateness. I am working on getting on a better schedule. Here is a new chapter! Sherlock shuts down. 
> 
> THIS IS A TRIGGER CHAPTER.*****  
> A not so explicit description of a rape kit procedure, if you are easily triggered please skip this chapter. I would hate to cost anyone mental well-being. I did as much research as I could, but there might be a few errors in the procedure, if you have experience with a kit and would like to enlighten me to the proper procedure, I will gladly fix my mistakes. If you enjoy this chapter drop a kudos and if you REALLY like it leave me a comment. Either make my day. Both are a blessing. 
> 
> Take care until next time! ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot bunny!

The car slowed to a stop as they pulled in front of the hospital.

All were silent.

Sherlock was asleep, snoring softly.  John gazed down ready to wake him, only to stare at his peaceful face, eyes blackened and red-rimmed from sobbing.

Could he face those haunted eyes now? He must.

Sherlock needed help, in many ways and John would have to be brave for his Detective when he couldn’t be brave for himself. With a deep breath and a gentle hand he roused Sherlock gently, gliding a safe hand down his spine with care. John settled his hand on Sherlock’s lower back and rubbed strong reassuring circles as he snuffled his way awake.

From between two slits, grey irises darted around before meeting gentle blue ones. John gave an encouraging smile and continued to urge Sherlock from sleep.

He was thoroughly exhausted, emotionally drained, physically abused and mentally screaming. The combination was less than pleasant but nevertheless he stretched as gently as he could in the small space before wincing at the pull of his torn flesh all over his body. John spoke to him gently, keeping him conscious.

“We’re at the hospital Sherlock, you need to wake up so we can get you inside. Come on, wake up.”

John moved his hands away from their treatment when Sherlock began to sit up with great difficulty until John guided him the rest of the way and carefully lead him out of the car. With a strong grip around the trembling form they made their way into the hospital where Sherlock was immediately taken from John’s hands and sat carefully in a wheelchair.

John followed, unwilling to leave his friend’s side and ignoring the looks from the Doctors. They were given a room on the second floor, 2-21.

John smirked at the little sign.

With great care he helped the nurses get Sherlock out of the chair and onto the bed, where they placed a gown at the foot of. After the nurses left, promising the Doctor’s entrance in a few minutes Sherlock and John sat there regarding each other.

Scrutinizing him carefully, John watched Sherlock’s breathing, shallow and quick. He was nervous, anxious, and afraid. The stirrups at the end of the bed, cold and menacing didn’t help in the slightest.

“How about we get you changed. Do you need my help?”

John reached for the gown and shook it out gently.

Sherlock, keeping his eyes glued to the floor tiles nodded minutely.

John sighed, Sherlock was never meek, never defeated and now he looked ultimately hopeless. Silently vowing to kill whoever touched Sherlock he smiled gently and encouraged Sherlock to slowly lift his arms so he could remove the shirt.

After some wincing and tears on both sides, Sherlock now donned a very unflattering blue gown and was sitting underneath the sheets. His dirtied clothes folded and placed in the bag provided. Both men remained silent as John helped Sherlock fill out the form since he was trembling too greatly to write legibly.

Sherlock refused to reveal to John the attacker. John agreed to leave that portion blank for the time being.

A lifetime later the Doctor came in, a middle-aged man, older than both Sherlock and John. He smiled warmly and introduced himself as Dr. Dawson, and accepted the form which he gave to a small nurse who immediately left the room. John stood and introduced both of them before returning to Sherlock’s side where he visibly quaked and was twisting nervous fingers into the sheets.

Dr. Dawson looked at him sadly at the display of fear and quickly reassured him.

“Hello Sherlock, I’m your Doctor for today. I will need to run an examination and take some pictures, alright?” Sherlock nodded mutely and allowed the tears to fall freely.

Quickly speaking to not upset his patient any further, he added, “Listen to me, Sherlock. You are in complete control, You can refuse any aspect of the examination, if I am making you uncomfortable in anyway or if I am going too fast just let me know. You’re safe now so there is no need to worry. Will your friend be staying with us?” He smiled encouragingly and quietly applied two sets of gloves.

Again, Sherlock nodded.

Dr. Dawson guided his table over and sat at the other side of the bed before nodding, “Okay, no problem. Here we go, Sherlock. First I am going to take an oral swab, it will be a bit uncomfortable just try not to bite me, Okay?”

He smiled again before unwrapping the culture swab. “Open wide.”

Sherlock’s lip trembled as he opened his mouth, breathing hard through his nose and remaining rigid he reached for John’s hand and squeezed it hard. Dr. Dawson had obviously performed this examination innumerable times because the sample was taken quickly and with little discomfort. John caressed large circles across Sherlock’s shoulders, soothing him as best he could.

Sherlock trembled but leaned into the touch, wanting the affection but again not knowing quite what to do with it. John didn’t mind and continued the ministrations.

Dr. Dawson carefully took samples of the underneath of his fingernails, using efficient, clinical movements. He purposefully ignored the way Sherlock’s hands trembled.

Once those samples were packed away, Sherlock was instructed to lie back, which he managed with great pain, his legs pressed firmly together and crossed at the ankles. John gave him a firm squeeze on the shoulder, their eyes met for a mutual moment, a single understanding moment.

John was in it for the long haul; he would stay no matter what.

The reassurance calmed Sherlock’s heart a great deal and he managed a deep breath. Scooting his stool to the foot of the bed, Dr. Dawson removed his first set of gloves. Reaching into the kit he took out another, longer than an average swab.

Sherlock’s stomach clenched, he knew the next step. Sensing Sherlock’s anxiety jump, John doubled his gentle caresses while Dr. Dawson explained that Sherlock needed to put his feet in the stirrups so the samples may be taken.

Sherlock’s breaths hitched, small, weak noises escaped, realization dawned lately on John that he was sobbing. Obediently, Sherlock spread his legs, placing them in the stirrups and hiding his face in his hands.

Ashamed of his loss of control, his inability to separate his mind from his body, to dull the pain and fear, to hide away.

He felt obscenely open, disgusting in his nakedness.

Dr. Dawson placed an uncomfortably cold hand on his trembling inner thigh as a physical warning before gently pushing the swab inside.

John hummed in sympathy as Sherlock flinched, hushing him soothingly as the samples were taken. The few seconds seemed agonizingly long as Sherlock’s body clenched in discomfort.

At the physical remnants, the intrusion and the memory.

With a soft voice, Dr. Dawson warned him to relax, to make it more bearable and soon the proper sample was required, the swab removed and bagged.

Sherlock was too engrossed in the millions of sensations running through his nerves, high on the endorphins of his ordeal. The crash taking hold, the exhaustion blasting him full force. The light was suddenly too bright, the sheets to rough, his brain felt hot and throbbing with each shaking breath.

He didn’t even notice as his pubic hair was combed for evidence, or the blood samples collected. Sherlock was oblivious as he was stripped of his gown for photo documentation. And he remained unaware of the cleaning and stitching of his wounds and gashes, even the ones between his legs.

He lay surrounded by the rubble of his Mind Palace ignorant of his unconsciousness as they injected the anesthetic.

His eyes remained opened, unseeing, vacant.

And for the first time in his life, his mind went blank.


End file.
